Azrael's skull felt like it had been used as an anvil.
He slumped against the cage bars every breath of his pulling in the thick stench of sweat and woodsmoke that was like saturated the hut. His muscles screamed from the earlier fight—some gladiatorial nonsense for the orcs' entertainment and he knew rest wasn't coming anytime soon.
'Charisma boost. Fucking brilliant, System.' He would've laughed if it didn't hurt to move. 'I ask for a weapon and you give me a pretty face. What good is charm when these green bastards see me as their next meal?'
The hut door groaned open. Heavy footfalls shooked the floor and then she filled the doorway—the Orc Queen herself. Light died behind her massive frame.
She was all brutal muscle and tusks her green skin was mapped with pale scars from battles Azrael didn't want to imagine. Her dark eyes flicked to him, quick and assessing like she was evaluating a tool she might discard later.
Then she looked away as if he didn't exist.
